


The West Mezzanine

by HermioneGirl96



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Established Relationship, Inspired by Music, M/M, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, Past Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 10:24:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19721755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermioneGirl96/pseuds/HermioneGirl96
Summary: Aziraphale takes Crowley to a theatre after closing just to pin him to the wall and kiss him. That's literally it.





	The West Mezzanine

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by the song "Anna Sun" by Walk the Moon. The title is from that song's lyrics. Also, as is probably clear, I never ever write smut, which is why this is a.) short, b.) not all about the physical stuff, and c.) not very good.

“Breaking and entering, Angel,” Crowley mused, watching Aziraphale pick the lock on the theatre. “Shouldn’t that be more _my_ style?” 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “You know full well that I broke the lock on that prison where Herod was keeping Peter, and _all_ the locks on that prison in Philippi where Paul and Silas were chained.” 

Crowley fixed Aziraphale with a smouldering look over the top of his sunglasses, which he was wearing despite the darkness outside. “Are you telling me we’re here to rescue apostles?”

“Well, no,” Aziraphale admitted as the door swung open at last. “There’s just . . . something I’d like to try.” 

“Oh?” Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale stepped past him without answering and began glowing softly, lighting up the dark interior of the theatre. He strode right past will call and up a staircase, following a sign that said WEST MEZZANINE. Crowley followed. 

“Now, Angel,” said Crowley once they had reached the top of the stairs, “could you tell me what we’re doing here?” 

Aziraphale simply grinned, grasped Crowley by the shoulders, and maneuvered him until Crowley was flush against the wall. Then Aziraphale stopped glowing, and Crowley felt rather than saw him lean forward until their lips met. The kiss was open-mouthed immediately, and Aziraphale’s tongue licked back and forth across the fork in Crowley’s. Their lips worked against one another and Aziraphale’s wings sprouted violently out of his coat. Crowley couldn’t help getting hard after that, and he could feel Aziraphale doing the same through their respective trousers. 

Crowley cocked one knee and rested his foot against the wall. Aziraphale ground their hips together harder and then, with one flap of his wings, jumped up and managed to wind his legs around Crowley’s waist, all without breaking the kiss or bashing his feet or knees into the wall (probably a miracle). This angle, however, proved a bit off for grinding, so Crowley pulled back from the kiss just long enough to whisper, “Get _down_ , Angel,” and then he locked his lips with Aziraphale’s again. 

When Aziraphale obeyed, Crowley spun him around; Aziraphale’s wings retracted just in time to avoid whacking into the wall. Then Crowley pressed against Aziraphale, eager and hard, until Aziraphale’s back and head were flush against the wall. They could feel every bit of each other, though admittedly most of their blood and attention were on their mouths and cocks, both of which were, by now, throbbing in the best possible way. Crowley ground against Aziraphale and kissed him harder before breaking them apart just enough to begin kissing Aziraphale’s neck and then his ears. Aziraphale made several tiny, broken, half-swallowed sounds, and Crowley mentally marked the night down as a victory. 

Suddenly, through a haze of euphoria and oxytocin, a thought struck Crowley, and he laughed against Aziraphale’s skin. 

Aziraphale tried to pull back, but the wall wouldn’t let him get very far. “What’s so funny?” 

“Is this about that song?” Crowley managed to ask between bouts of laughter. 

“What song?”

Crowley fixed Aziraphale with another look. “You know you don’t want to make me sing.” 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Fine. _Yes._ But I’ve wanted to do this since that hospital-turned-retreat-centre. You know I can’t resist a good wall pin.” 

“Oh, is that so?” Crowley asked, rolling his hips against Aziraphale’s. 

“You’ve known this for three thousand years,” Aziraphale snapped. “Now kiss me again already.”


End file.
